


Airports

by Meadowlarkwrites



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Study?, alfred goes to the airport, background OCs and stuff, have, maybe? - Freeform, not even OCs like, they don't even havd names, um, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 21:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10727823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meadowlarkwrites/pseuds/Meadowlarkwrites
Summary: Alfred gets on a plane and connects with his citizens.





	Airports

Alfred's hair was messier than usual and his suit in need of a good ironing. Or, at the very least, a couple dozen lint rollers. Despite his dishevelled appearance, the man was still dressed to the nines. Even if the times changed, his fashion sense would always take a couple decades or more to catch up.

After manoeuvring traffic for half an hour only to find the parking garage was full and he'd have to catch a bus into the terminal, there were still more lines Alfred would have to wait through. The whole time, he bit his tongue and held his chin high, because he had the choice of a private jet, but no, he had to 'suffer like his people' or whatever that meant.

Luckily enough, delays due to weather meant his flight was waiting for him. Alfred could tell the plane wasn't even turned on. He had half a mind to just push through the security gates and fly the darn thing himself, but then he'd have to pay another private company for crashing their plane. So instead of wrestling the stewardesses and pilots, Alfred chose to sit in a too-small, slightly discoloured seat, discard his jacket, and catch up on his book.

Across the aisle from him, three children squealed. Normally, Alfred might have found it cute. Right now, he wanted some peace and quiet. The oldest looked to be reaching the end of high school, anyways, so why were they so loud?

The clock ticked on, and eventually most of the stewardesses just up and left. The lights were dimmed, and some lady was nice enough to offer everyone a blanket. Everyone thanked her politely, but declined, seeing as she had two bags full of nothing but blankets, and her attire was more stained than Alfred's.

The blond leaned his head back and crossed his knees. All this for a bit of ice? He'd flown smaller planes just a couple of years after they'd come out. He'd flown them through sleet and against strong German bombers or fast fighter pilots. Alfred could probably teach these pilots to do their job. He could probably teach them a lot of things, most of which far above their clearance.

Anyways.

His book was incredibly boring, and Alfred had to wonder why, out of every book on his shelf, he chose a Steven King. Classic airplane literature, sure, but he hated mysteries. Too obvious, too dull.

Another good use for books was blocking out the lights on the runway still shining in through the windows. Alfred performed some gymnastics and formed what might have passed for a supine twist, and finally got comfortable on the too-small, slightly discoloured row of seats.

Two of the children, the younger, in front of him had finally passed out. One was on the floor, her face pressed against a stain that looked something like Morissey, and the other was splayed across three seats and drooling. The third was hunched over a tablet with his mother, discussing things in hushed tones.

Alfred knew these kids. Of course he did, he knew all of his people. They'd seen more hardship than most. He wished they didn't have to.

There were also a couple of businessmen, who tapped loudly at computers and sipped expensive and complicated coffee. One man even had a rat in a cat carrier. Later, Alfred would realise it was a chihuahua.

And suddenly, because God hates us all, the lights all came on at the exact same time, blinding everyone who happened to have their eyes open. The old woman screamed, waking up the child on the benches, who fell onto her sister. Alfred was impressed when the girl on the ground did not react.

A stewardess, in her tight heels and tight skirt and tight-lipped smile approached their bedraggled group of travellers. "Hello," she said, her voice sounding like someone was trying to pass off tar as molasses, "The ice has been cleared from the strips. Your plane will be one of the first to board, in about two hours."

Two.

Hours.

Alfred would be having a word with whatever excuse for an administrator ran this building.

Before he could protest, though, a man next to him stood up. He looked absolutely livid. "You wake us up and tell us theirs two more hours? What the hell are you doing? Back in my day we didn't have to worry about ice or any of that shit. Why can't we put the plane up now?"

Through some grotesque miracle, the stewardess pulled her lips even tighter. "I'm sorry sir, we still have to refuel and-"

"Well why didn't you do that earlier?"

The man's complaints faded into white noise as the poor stewardess tried to placate him. She even offered a feee meal, but the man continued shouting at her. The oldest kid had put their hands over their ears and the old woman was muttering into her knitting.

Finally, Alfred groaned loud enough to get everyone's attention within the next ten loading docks. He unfurled himself and placed a bookmark in the book he wasn't reading, and cracked his knuckles.

"Sir, your complaining is great and all, but I have been waiting for more than a day now to board this flight. Longer than you, I know, because you showed up eight hours ago. I want nothing more than to let out my distaste on someone," he cracked his neck, now, "but I know this fine woman is not the reason for our delays. She's perfectly nice. You, on the other hand..."

The man was actually about to say something back. Alfred couldn't believe the nerve of old people. If only they knew how long he'd been around. "Unless you're going to apologise, I wouldn't suggest that. I'm not afraid of the cops."

The old guy sputtered, stopped, sputtered some more, then spluttered out a quick apology and returned to his too-small, slightly discoloured seat.

The stewardess thanked him with a smirk, dropping her 'customer' personality. "S'not a problem," Alfred grinned back slyly. "Can't let a guy hurt a doll like you."

She didn't appreciate that as much, and ignored his line. The older children had the nerve to laugh at him, and the mother wasn't doing too well at hiding her laugh. Even the old woman was grinning like the conniving banshee she was. Alfred pouted at all of them, making the middle girl laugh even harder. It was kind of gross, considering there was drool dried to one cheek, but Alfred rolled his eyes and smiled back.

Two hours later, the boarding sign lit up, just like the stewardess had said. The middle girl had decided they were best friends and that he absolutely had to know all the crap Kennedie was pulling at school. She frowned when group A gravitated to the line, while her older brother kicked their other sister awake. Alfred was again impressed by her commitment to sleep. It took an air horn donated by an overenthusiastic boy two rows down to get her to even respond.

Alfred stood and found his spot in line as group B was called. He was between a man who definitely had not been in the terminal until five minutes ago, and the guy who had been there longer than Alfred and had spent the entire time on one sandwich. Next to him, a mother and son jabbered on in what Alfred believed was Hindi. He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the cool finger of wind for the first time in more than a day through the thin slats of the gang plank.

He was lucky to get a window seat, just behind the Indian mother and son. Across the aisle was a man who was probably dead, judging by the glazed over eyes and lack of movement. Alfred put his suitcase above the seat and stowed his backpack.

Group C boarded, leaving the eldest of the three siblings next to him. His voice was monotone as they asked if the seat was open, a stark contrast from his arguments with his sisters.

As Alfred looked confused, searching for the rest of the family, the kid jabbed a thumb towards the back of the plane. "There weren't a whole ton of seats," he explained. "My sisters got to sit in the back so the stewardess could watch over them. Alfred nodded, and patted the seat next to him.

"So you're mom's not riding?"

"Nah," he replied, "we're going to visit my dad. I stole a look at your ticket, seems we'll be getting off before you. JFK's our stop."

"Ugh, good luck with that. JFK is the worst." The boy nodded solemnly in agreement, then promptly ignored Alfred in favour of a book.

If Alfred wasn't so tired, he might have been insulted.

As the stewards went through safety procedures, Alfred nodded off. When he woke up again, he was in a rather awkward position. The guy next to him hadn't moved, but was already on a new book. It had been three hours, and the plane was well into the air. They had just entered New York, which was probably what prompted Alfred awake in the first place, as they'd just gone over Canada.

The plane landed, and his seat mate went to the back of the plane to collect his sisters. It seemed they'd done this a million times before, because the brother got all the suitcases without a problem and carried his youngest sister. She was asleep again.

A few more people boarded, the plane took off, and then the flight was quiet. A young man with the best highlight Alfred had ever seen took the spot next to him, but didn't say much. Alfred played on his phone, caught a few more hours of sleep. He almost watched a movie on the in-flight cinema, but the selection was disappointing at best and offensive at worst.

"So, what's waiting for you in London?" He asked his seat mate once the silence had drug on too long.

The man smiled back politely, but seemed uncomfortable. "I've got a job offer from a magazine. They want me all the way in Dublin for the interview, can you believe it?"

Alfred's eyes widened. "In Dublin?"

"Ugh, yeah." He seemed more comfortable now. Of course, Alfred was his country. "And I mean, I wasn't getting anything in DC. I figured, if the interview goes through, I'll find something else, right?"

Alfred grinned and lightly punched his friend's arm. "Yeah, dude. If it means anything, I think you got the cat in the bag."

"Thanks."

Eventually, a lunch was brought around. Alfred knew better than to eat food served on airplanes, but his seat mate boasted an iron stomach and took his serving, too. He gave him a bag of homemade candies from his hometown in countryside Virginia. 'The Best,' according to him. They were okay, but Alfred had also been a close friend of Mr. Hershey, so it took a lot to impress him.

Only one person puked during the flight. It was a baby, so it hardly counted.

The seatbelt light turned on. Alfred expected another bout of turbulence, but then he felt the borders of England below himself. He grinned at the man next to him, who looked confused in return. His expression turned to match Alfred's as a pilot announced their landing. Alfred quickly packed his bags, and waited for the slow descent. He predicted forty five minutes, what with how cloudy England was. The man behind him, also in a suit, took him on for that bet at an hour. The Indian mother who had gotten on back in Chicago won with "exactly thirty nine minutes, give or take a few seconds." The men shelled out twenty pounds each to a very smug looking mother.

So many of the passengers had people to meet. Alfred smiled as the mother and son rushed to meet a man with a baby, jabbering excitedly. A few people, like the business men and the college kids, only had one bag and booked it out of dodge. There was no sign of the man who was probably dead.

Alfred himself only had the one suitcase and his backpack, so he waved goodbye to the friends he had made and left the airport into the light of day.

Well, the fog of day.

Good enough.

 

**Author's Note:**

> wow you actually read the whole thing. thanks dude/something else if dude makes you uncomfortable  
> Anyways, criticism is appreciated


End file.
